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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27135658">I'm Looking Up More Than I Look Down</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Blood As Lube, Blowjobs, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne-centric, Brudick - Freeform, Choking, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Size Difference, handjobs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:41:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,022</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27135658</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce wanders into a church and finds the devil.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I'm Looking Up More Than I Look Down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>(Please PLEASE mind the tags - what happens is not OKAY. Stay safe.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bruce Wayne walks into the little church mesmerised by the way the late morning sun reflects off its stained glass. He had been on vacation and was driving back to Gotham when he had stopped for breakfast in this interior little town. Deciding to take a little walk around, he had turned a couple of corners and come face to face with an ethereal sight. A cosy little church made of wood and stones with tall sturdy trees flanking it all round. There was even a tiny little grey fence running all around it. The church was empty – likely the worship was held early so townsfolk could go about their day. He opens the latch to the quaint iron gate and walks inside. </p><p>The leaves rustle as a mad gust of wind blows through them. Bruce looks up, curious, because he didn’t feel any breeze.</p><p>The church door is open.</p><p>As Bruce saunters in, the shadows inside move oddly; and the air goes cool. Bruce shivers – is it going to rain soon? He hadn’t noticed any clouds during breakfast but he was unfamiliar with weather patterns in the west. He shrugs.</p><p>Bruce looks up at the idol – Jesus eyes are bleeding and there is such depth of compassion in those eyes, Bruce feels a tide of emotion well inside him. His relationship with God and faith has always been awkward. The hairs on his neck stand up and he looks around – there, beside a massive organ stands a man. Probably the preacher; he looks young, startlingly young rather. The man is tall with piercing blue eyes that seemed to see through Bruce and cut him with ice cold certainty.</p><p>“Are you the Preacher here?” he asks. The man has a pull Bruce cannot resist. </p><p>"Of course I am." The voice is deep and the man enunciates like a man familiar with several languages. Bruce recognises it because he gets that sometimes when he is in a meeting with his group of friends – all of whom speak various different languages. Bruce feels relieved. There was something about the church that discomfits him but the man seems alright.</p><p>Bruce takes a couple of steps towards him.</p><p>“You are new.” The man states.</p><p>Bruce gives a soft chuckle but is startled out of it by the loud crack of lightning and the rumble of thunder. It is followed immediately after by the sound of rain falling on the shingles.</p><p>Bruce huffs as he sits down on one of the wooden pews. “I am just passing through. Stopped for a walk and saw this church.” He looks at the man as he approaches. “This is a beautiful place.”</p><p>The man takes a seat next to him, eyes intense. Bruce feels warm under the look. He is a wealthy young man and he is courted by many, but this man had a frank gaze which makes Bruce feel like he is the only one to exist for the man now. </p><p>"Beautiful. Yes." The man says. And he leans in. Bruce can smell his aftershave, a hint of coconut that makes Bruce’s gaze so hazy. </p><p>"Our little church is not the usual haunt of tourists." The man’s voice is low and dark. </p><p>"It should be!" Bruce blurts and then goes red in the face for his vehemence. But he refuses to look away. He only spoke the truth. </p><p>"I know. God sees everything." </p><p>Bruce ducks his head and chuckles. “Sure.”</p><p>"Don’t you think God sees you?"</p><p>"Oh sure. I am just not sure God does anything about it." Bruce replies easily. </p><p>“Sounds like you have something to confess.” </p><p>Bruce whips his head to stare at the man. “Why – why do you say that?”</p><p>“You hold a grievance against God. It is easy to see.” The ice in those blue eyes glint from the lightning outside the windows. Bruce has a strange thought - they look hungry. </p><p>Bruce chuckles lightly. “Am I so easy to see?”</p><p>“Hm. You hold burdens on your shoulders and in your heart. Those who know to look for, see it.” </p><p>Bruce feels breathless. The man is beautiful. And his voice is divine. He swallows. “What else do you see?” </p><p>“You in the flesh,” the whisper is so close Bruce can feel the man’s eyelashes on his cheek. Bruce feels his cheeks heat up.</p><p>“I seem to have been going to the wrong preachers,” Bruce whispers breathily. </p><p>“Then show me.”</p><p>"Wh- what?" </p><p>“Bare yourself, son.” </p><p>"Son? I am older than you," Bruce – giggles, and immediately shushes himself. He looks into the man’s frigid burning gaze and brings a thumb to the man’s lips. Almost. He gulps, “okay”.</p><p>Bruce is wearing a blue loose button down shirt and brown slacks and when he finishes the last button of his shirt, he feels hands on his bare shoulders. For a preacher, they are calloused and rough and cold. He inhales deep when the hands ease the shirt off him and then cold fingers flit over his collarbone and bare chest. When the hands move south, his breath hitches. Bruce dares a look and the man has an eyebrow raised.</p><p>"Everything, huh?" Bruce can feel a hot flush creep up his ears. Bruce unzips his slacks and stands up to tug them and his boxers down. When Bruce straightens, his cock stands proud jutting out in front of the preacher’s inscrutable face. He shivers at that cool gaze. “What now?" He asks.</p><p>Still looking at him with that strange cool and hot gaze, the man reaches out to touch him. Bruce startles at the cold hand but before he can say anything, the man gives his cock a twist and Bruce almost keens in pleasure.</p><p>The man stands up and leans in, Bruce feels the warm susurration of his breathing over his neck and sighs. </p><p>“You like this.”</p><p>What Bruce wants to object to is the confidence in the statement. He has never done this before. But the rain and thunder and occasional crack of lightning outside and the ice blue eyes and cold hands and the heat from this man has addled his brain like never before. Bruce Wayne is known to be a ditz but Bruce Wayne wasn’t one. </p><p>“N-no." He protests softly. When he looks at the man, his eyes are laughing. Bruce feels suddenly uncomfortable. A thumb traces over his slit and Bruce is embarrassed that there is already precum pooling.</p><p>“Call me Dick,” comes the sibilant voice in his ears. </p><p>Bruce nods and repeats “Dick” as he sags against the pew behind him – knees shaking as the man – no, Dick – as Dick works on his cock, the friction by the heavy callouses nearly sends Bruce into a blissful trance. </p><p>“Stop – Dick,” Bruce shakes harder, his eyes tightly shut, as he whispers desperately, “my release” and nearly sobs as Dick wraps an arm around his back and pulls him closer.</p><p>“Show me,” says the treacherous voice. There is warm saliva on his neck as the man- as Dick – licks a hot stripe and then <em>bites</em> and Bruce gulps and swallows and sobs as he spurts out his release.</p><p>Bruce is spent and overstimulated – Dick is still pumping his cock – and there are tear tracks down his face. Bruce has never felt like this before. Not when he did this himself and not with his numerous lovers. He has even submitted to playing certain roles in the bedroom chasing that feeling of satiation but the irony of him finally experiencing it at the hands of a preacher in a church in the middle of a thunderstorm doesn’t escape him. He is just not in any position to do anything with that realisation. </p><p>Bruce whimpers because his cock is oversensitive and he feels dizzy.</p><p>Dick releases him. Finally. </p><p>Bruce slumps, he can feel his release drying and clumping on his stomach and thighs; he might be enveloped in a fog of pleasure but he hears the belt squeal and a zipper hiss open. Bruce shivers as he finally sees the <em>thing</em> between the preacher’s legs. It is a monster; heavy, dark, swollen. And getting bigger. Bruce cannot take his eyes off it. Dick palms the large cock with one hand as he grabs Bruce’s hair by the other and drags him down. Bruce clutters down to the floor on his knees and gasps as the musk hits him. Dick takes the moment to stuff <em>that</em> into his mouth. Bruce gags. He hasn’t done this before with such a massive cock. Only the tip is in and his mouth is already stretched wide around it. The burn makes his eyes water. </p><p>“My good boy.” Dick tugs his head back as he steps forward to push himself further into his mouth. He is drooling saliva, sobbing at the burn, wincing at the hard grip on his hair. He cannot swallow, so he drools some more, then adjusts his mouth and opens wide. <em>ohhh</em>Dick uses the hold on his hair as leverage to move in and out of his mouth. Within moments, Bruce’s entire existence is about stretch, slide, pain, and just as he is getting used to the rhythm, the pace quickens; and with it, the cock pushes further inside. Another hand comes to his hair and grips. Before Bruce can wonder at it, the speed picks up and the man forces himself deeper into his mouth; he feels like the cock is halfway down his throat. Bruce whines but the grip gets harder, the speed faster, the intensity higher. Bruce struggles to keep his eyes open but the world spins around him as the man thrusts in and out, in and out; Bruce has a moment of wild panic when he wonders if his mouth would ever close again. The thought is useless because the man is relentless and unmerciful.</p><p>Bruce is trapped. When he feels the cock slide down his throat, he coughs, breathless, and terrified he is going to choke to death on a monster cock. The man pulls it out, lets him hack in a few breaths and no <em>no</em> he was not ready, but he cannot speak it because there is a cock rammed into his mouth. Bruce sobs. He doesn’t care; no one can see him, here, on his knees, with the weather drumming up an apocalypse outside, snot and spit and <em>he screams</em> and is that <em>blood</em> down his throat. The next moment, the pressure in his mouth is gone. Bruce instinctively swallows and he tastes musk, sweat, blood, <em>cum</em> and he gags even as something splatters into his face.</p><p>The next instant Bruce finds himself gagging into the floor. He is belly down on the cold wooden floor and there is a hand reaching into his mouth and then there are fingers inside his <em>ass</em> and he struggles to rise but his mind is blank, heart burning, head buzzing in pain. A booted foot comes to rest on his neck and arms press down on his lower back and his voice cracks and itches and <em>hurts</em> and the pain obliterates everything. So Bruce gives in and screams. The fingers retreat and Bruce prays to the God on the cross across from him for mercy. He feels that monstrous cock part his ass cheeks and he can hear and <em>feel</em> the tearing as it slides into him. There is something wet dripping down his thighs and the thought drives him wild; to hold on to his shred of sanity, Bruce imagines it is one of his friends from college but he can’t conjure up any face to match the ruthless thrusting. He gags and vomits his breakfast.</p><p>Bruce’s world narrows down to unyielding pain, to the squelch of his stomach and groin rubbing against piss and blood on the floor, to the stink of vomit, to the distant sound of the storm, to the groans of the man in him.</p><p> Bruce lies - mouth slack, eyes wide open, and the metallic scent of blood in his nostrils. Bruce’s eye is on the bleeding God but he is seeing his mother’s white pearls bathed red and his father’s white waist coat stained red –</p>
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